<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Archer's Paradox by PunnyMints</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566011">The Archer's Paradox</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyMints/pseuds/PunnyMints'>PunnyMints</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, I haven't played golden deer yet, I like the Church of Serios route, Multi, Slow Burn, Yearning, but i'll have little others sprinked throughout!, so this is what it's based on, the main ship is ashe and byleth, would it be weird to include ships I like but haven't seen???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:21:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyMints/pseuds/PunnyMints</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A misaligned arrow can still hit a target if in the correct hands. In an odd way, fate is the exact same way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annette Fantine Dominic &amp; Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/My Unit | Byleth, Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Sylvain Jose Gautier &amp; Mercedes von Martritz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is based on the Church of Serios route, and I managed to recruit everyone because I don't like fighting my babies :( I didn't see a lot of Ashe/Byleth fics and I love them. Where are they. Give them to me. Please.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being a god-sent being had its perks, but being trusted with an immeasurable amount of power could not possibly be one of them.</p><p>Almost seven months into being the new Archbishop, Byleth had already decided that she wasn't cut out for it. She knew long ago when she was established as head of the church (or "cult" when she felt like annoying Seteth) that it would be foreign and different for her. She wasn't that good at diplomacy or acting calm and collected all the time. Dressing up was fun, but the crown just got so heavy after several hours. Rhea must have had a neck of steel. She may have even slept in it, Byleth thought, removing her crown from her head and placing it gently in the special box Gilbert had presented her with upon her coronation. Byleth pressed the cushion gently with tenderness. Mercedes had created the pillow from one of Jeralt's old shirts, so it almost felt like Byleth could touch the pillow and hold something of her late father for a moment more. </p><p>She walked around her room, brushing out her hair. "Ow." Byleth gritted her teeth and yanked at a web of matted hair in vain. Maybe it was the power the goddess had blessed her with, maybe it was an archbishop thing, but her hair had grown very long over the past months. Flayn loved trying new hairstyles, as hers was too curly to do much with, but Byleth's was long and straight. She missed her shorter hair, but she had a sort of fondness for this longer style. Did her (human) mother have long hair? Did Jeralt brush and play with her hair? She found herself yearning for things that never were and things that would probably never be.</p><p>Byleth sunk onto the giant soft bed in the Archbishop chambers. The knots in her hair weren't coming out. How unconventional. </p><p>With an exasperated sigh, Byleth laid back on the bed again, eyes pasted on the ceiling of her room. The Archbishop chambers had been repaired and renovated almost immediately after she had replaced Rhea. She loved waking up to the sunlight tricking down in reds and blues and greens…</p><p>Green brought a very familiar set of eyes to mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly. The last time she had seen Ashe, he was recovering from wounds. She and Mercedes had stayed up late and dressed his injuries as the boy had groaned and bit back tears. Byleth doubted he would ever leave his new, comfortable estate that his adopted father had left him.</p><p>A soft knock on the door brought Byleth back into reality. "Yes?" She sat up. </p><p>Flayn pushed open the door and offered a large grin. "Byleth, your hair's a mess."</p><p>"It would seem that way." The older girl eagerly sat up and offered out her comb. "No one can wrangle the tangles such as yourself."</p><p>Flayn giggled and climbed onto the bed behind Byleth and began brushing out her long hair. "I've had lots of practice. I've brushed my own hair, Rhea's hair, Seteth's hair-"</p><p>Byleth whipped her head around, a delightful unrestrained noise finding it's way out of her throat. "You brush Seteth's hair?" She and Flayn had gotten close, especially since discovering the whole connected by the goddess/saints/it-still-didn't-make-total-sense-to-Byleth thing.</p><p>"Absolutely I do." Flayn turned Byleth's head and continued with her task, still giggling. "He has a special brush that I use. His hair is something he cares about quite a bit." Flayn crinkled her nose playfully as she gently worked out a gnarl. "Too much, I would dare say."</p><p>"Ooh, I'm absolutely going to use that information wisely." Byleth leaned back on her hands as Flayn tugged gently at a knot. She gave a satisfactory sigh. "How goes the celebration planning?"</p><p>"Very well!" Flayn tilted her head. "Goddess, Byleth, your hair is so long."</p><p>"I assume it came with being the archbishop." Byleth examined her nails. </p><p>"The Festival will go on as planned." Flayn began working a braid in Byleth's hair. "It's going to be fun! You get to wear a fancy dress, you get fancy jewelry, you get fancy everything!"</p><p>Byleth felt herself cringe a little bit. "Oh. Fancy, huh?"</p><p>It wasn't that she didn't like fancy, it was just that she wasn't used to it. Elaborate rooms, artisan woven dresses, antique jewelry given to her to honor the archbishops before her… it was so foreign to someone who was used to sleeping under stars and wearing the same clothes for a week straight on mercenary trip after trip. Not for the first time, Byleth wondered what Jeralt would say to who she had become now.</p><p>"It's all very sweet, really." Flayn gently tied back the braid. "It's a symbol of the goddess watching over all of Fodlan and Garreg Mach though our archbishop and being present with us." Flayn hummed a soft lullaby and patted Byleth's hair. "Everyone comes from all over to see the archbishop and receive her blessings."</p><p>Byleth almost jumped out of her skin. "... everyone?" How long had it been since she had seen any of her old students? It felt like forever, but it was only a little while.</p><p>"Well, just about everyone." Flayn explained. She climbed off the bed. "I've gotten replies back from everyone except for the Lonato estate, the opera singers, and the Fraldarius house." She lowered the ivory comb gently onto the nightstand.</p><p>Hate it as she may, Byleth felt her heart submerge a little in her chest. "Oh. Well, I'm sure Ashe will come."</p><p>Flayn beamed. "I would think so!" She pulled the heavy door closed. "Good night, Byleth."</p><p>"Good night, Flayn," Byleth replied softly. She waited until the door clicked shut to take her pillow and comforter and move onto the stone floor to sleep. The archbishop curled up with the thick blanket around her and rolled onto her back, giving a soft sigh. “Sothis, I miss you,” Byleth mumbled softly. “Sometimes I wish I could hear from you. I need your voice more than ever.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.” </p><p>No response came, of course. It hadn't for a long time, and it never would again. Byleth squeezed her eyes shut and ignored the tugging of her heart as she fell, not for the first time since her step up to archbishop, into a restless sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one is short too, and how do exposition??? but the chapters will start to get longer in the next one! I also don't know how names work and the sibling's ages are ABSOLUTELY incorrect, but I like writing for little kids, so we gonna pretend<br/>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It never ceased to surprise Ashe how insanely busy the Lonato/Gaspard Estate could possibly get. He grinned as he watched a horse ride up, the man leaning off and handing the letters to one of the workers tending to the gardens. Ashe turned back to the exterior of the house and looked at the rebuilt pillar. "It looks sturdy," he observed. </p><p>The stone mason nodded. "Yes. I filled and reinforced it with the best that I have."</p><p>Ashe looked back at him. "Oh, you shouldn't have, I asked for the most basic-"</p><p>"Lord Lonato always ordered the finest." The mason gave a small chuckle. "Say, would that make you the new Lord Durain? You inherited everything."</p><p>A twist pulled at his heart. "Yes, I did inherit it. I'm unsure if I'm Lord Durian or Lord Ubert now, though." Ashe gave a nervous chuckle, refusing to think of how he didn't have the strength to kill his uncle then, so a much stronger pair of hands had to do it for him. He shook the thoughts off. "Come inside, I'll pay you-"</p><p>"No need." The mason picked up his bag of wares. "This one's free. It was war damage, after all, and you're somewhat of a hero."</p><p>Ashe felt his face flush. "Ah, that's a bit much-"</p><p>"You are." The mason insisted. He motioned a large, calloused hand at Ashe. “Lord Ashe Ubert, hero of the people, right hand of the queen, speaker of the unspoken, the Arrow of Justice.” He grinned. “You’re an inspiration, my lord.”</p><p>Suddenly, Ashe felt the need to clear his throat. His face felt warm all of a sudden. “I… thank you, you’re far too kind.” He motioned towards the house. “Please, I insist, allow me to pay you. If not fully, at least-” </p><p>“My lord!” The worker that had spoken to the mail carrier called. He jogged over as Ashe waved at the departing mason, a letter in his fingers. “A letter from the queen and archbishop.” Byleth.</p><p>Ashe’s heart throbbed. “Byleth?” He hurried over and took the letter. He opened it and thanked the manservant before hurrying to the nearby bench in the garden. Ashe sunk onto the bench, unfolding the paper. It was dated from a month ago.</p><p>______</p><p>'Hello, Ashe. </p><p>I pray you are doing well. It has been so long since we have seen one another, and I am afraid that I have taken poor advantage of writing to all my former students and friends. Being Archbishop and Queen is delightful, but it makes me miss the old days. When Seteth is insistent on me fulfilling manners fitting of a ruler, I long for practicing archery with you or magic with Lindhart or wrestling with Caspar. (They seem to be doing fine, Lindhart came by to visit me not more than two weeks ago, but I haven't seen anyone else. Lindhart came for my crest, but I thoroughly enjoyed his company. Can you believe that? Perhaps that shows how bored I am here.)</p><p>Your classmates seem well. I’m sure you’re aware, but the anniversary of Garreg Mach is fast approaching. I would love for you to be there. You and your family are my guests of honor. Please do bring them. You spoke so highly of your little brother and sister, but I haven’t had their names or seen their faces yet.</p><p>Duty calls. I trust that Castle Gaspard is doing well. If you are as well a lord as you are a knight, you’re a hard one to beat.</p><p>I miss you. </p><p>Your archbishop, queen, professor, and friend,</p><p>Byleth.'</p><p>_____</p><p>Ashe ran his eyes over the letter again and again. Byleth’s handwriting hadn’t changed in all these years and months passed. The letters on the page were simple, plainly scripted, but they had their own charm about them. Little flourish, but Ashe adored the words and her letter. He adored everything about Byleth, come to think of it. How much would she have changed?</p><p>Oh, gods… how much had he changed? Ashe stood from the bench and carefully folded the letter. He wanted to say he had grown since after the war, he wanted to say he felt more mature and looked older. But his eyes were still large, giving him a sense of naivete, his freckles were still prominent across his face, and his hair still splayed in a rather un-adult manner across his forehead. Ashe pondered at the thought. Maybe some things had changed. His voice had a little more of an edge, he felt stronger from training. He had also sprung up a couple more inches, making him lankier. Ashe felt, in a word, awkward again, as if he was going through Puberty 2.0. </p><p>Ashe walked up the stairs, his steps light on the stone. The castle was his home when he needed it, his source of comfort, his resting place. After leaving Garreg Mach, he wasn't sure where that was anymore.</p><p>"Adeline!" Ashe knocked lightly on his sister's door. "Abe!"</p><p>The door opened, revealing a small girl. She blinked heavily with sleep in her eyes, then grinned when she comprehended what was happening. "Ashe!" She lunged out and hugged his leg, causing the eldest to laugh. </p><p>"Adie, you saw me not two hours ago." He scooped up the ten-year-old. She hugged him tightly around his neck, nestling her face into him.</p><p>"I'm just scared you'll leave again."</p><p>The young man hesitated for a moment. Her words sunk in. Leaving his family was not an easy option, but it was ultimately the right thing to do. It lead him back to the rebellion army, it earned Adeline and Aberdeen security, and he was able to become a knight. As he had wanted. But what did he want now? That dream was real, what was left? "I won't leave you again." Ashe said softly to his little sister. He inhaled her clean scent. How precious they both were to him.</p><p>Aberdeen sprinted down the hallway. "Ashe!" He yelled. "Birds!" The boy waved back at the window at the end of the hallway. </p><p>Ashe set down Adeline and picked up Abe. "Oh, they won't harm you."</p><p>The youngest looked at Ashe, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder. "I know!" He chirped. "They're pretty, so pretty."</p><p>Ashe walked down to the window, a swelling sense of contentendenss pulsing in his chest. Because of him, something he had done, they were safe. They could be children and not steal or live among bandits. Each passing step, each passing day, was a confirmation to the young lord that he had done right.</p><p>Ashe reached the window, chuckling as Abe pressed his hands to the glass. Abe frowned. "All gone now."</p><p>"Yes, shouting scares them." He lowered Abe and knelt down. "Addie, Abe, I want to go see a few old friends of mine. And they really want to meet you." He plucked a twig tenderly from Abe's hair. "I understand if you don't want to come-"</p><p>"Of course we wanna come!" The girl hooted, bouncing on her toes. "Are they other knights? Do they ride horses? Are there lady knights there, too?"</p><p>"Yes to all." Ashe stood again. "Pack your bags tonight. We'll set off tomorrow for Garreg Mach."</p><p>The kids cheered, but Abe paused. "... what's Garreg Mach?"</p><p>"Where I've been for the past while. That long time where I was gone, I was at Garreg Mach, fighting."</p><p>The children nodded, then abruptly sprinted to their rooms, shouting at one another things to remember to pack. It filled Ashe with joy, who was unable to keep from laughing.</p><p>He waited until his siblings had run to their shared room to walk down the stairs and to his own grand room. Ashe shut the door softly behind him, quietly removing his boots as he sunk onto his bed. At last. He would be seeing them- seeing her- again.</p><p>Ashe laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Byleth, the Ashen Deamon, the fair ruler, and the most wonderful person he had ever met. Could he sweep her off her feet this time? Would he have the courage?</p><p>Oh gods… what if they kissed?</p><p>Ashe sat up abruptly. Kissing Byleth… well, that would be a dream come true. From the moment he was a student, he had a silly infatuation with a pretty teacher that didn't even lead his class, and now he was a subject she ruled and a knight she commanded. Her soft lips, her touch, her eyes… all that and maybe more had crossed his mind more than once. </p><p>Puberty 2.0 was right. He felt like a silly schoolboy again. Was he not a knight, a lord, or something like that? “How… unbefitting.” Ashe mumbled under his breath.</p><p>He felt his face heat up, glancing at the mirror to confirm it. What if he still liked her when he saw her? What if Byleth's new position didn't change his feelings? What would she look like, so regal and proud and elegant-</p><p>Nope. He was making it worse. Contempt bubbled up inside him. Ashe was a knight, a link in the chain up to Byleth. He pressed his mouth to his warm palm, eyes feeling watery. He had to find himself being content as her knight. Her servant. </p><p>Yes! That would help. Ashe would just think of himself as being lowly, a worm under her feet. Determined with this new strategy, Ashe stood and hurried to his closet, grabbing his pack. He had a trip to prepare for. A perfectly normal trip that couldn't possibly mess everything up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*sips tea* MMM ASHE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT, IT'S NOT LIKE THIS IS A SHIPPING FIC OR ANYTHING</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>in which the author realizes she can just mash 2 points of view into one chapter, hurr durr</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Byleth sprinted to her closet and threw the door open. She yanked through the gowns and robes, grabbing at her favorite dress, which was the fanciest one she was the most willing to answer. She pulled it on, struggling with which hole to get her hand through. Once she determined the end of the sleeve, she began struggling with the other one. "Flayn!" She pulled her other hand from the decorative shoulder hole and wove it into the next. "FLAYN!" Byleth struggled for a moment more before stumbling back, effectively tearing the seam she stepped on. The queen let out a cry of despair as she landed, after the long battle with the frustrating attire, harshly on her posterior. </p><p>A long string of words unbecoming to a queen flitted like enraged birds to Byleth’s mind. They had three revolving themes:</p><p> Theme the first: Her dress, the only dress she was willing to wear and not feel like a fruitcake in, was ripped.</p><p> Theme, the sequel: Guests were coming today and she had a public appearance, and she looked, politely said, like a hell-sent, Sothis-damned, mess of a human being. Her hair was not ready. She was sore from training yesterday. </p><p> Most recently and the final part of the exciting and thrilling theme trilogy: Byleth had only just realized Seteth was set-eth (ah! A pun! All was not lost.) upon giving Byleth a long string of torture called “beauty treatments”. Byleth had no idea what this entailed, but she feared it involved bees. She had no evidence, but Byleth knew that she had heard Manuela talk about the horrible things Opera Singers had done. They had bees sting their lips, little fish nibble at their skin and toes-</p><p>The door opened, and an all-too-calm Flayn entered. “Byleth,” She said, her voice well-matured beyond her few (many) years (millennium) walking on Fodlan soil. “Is everything alright?”</p><p>Byleth stared at the child (goddess/saint many thousands of centuries far older than her). </p><p>Flayn tilted her head to the side, green hair shuffling against her dress fabric with a small shuffle. </p><p>Her next words made Byleth gnash her teeth aloud. Yes, teeth could be loud. “Oh, my. We do have a bit of a conundrum.”</p><p>“Why are you- what is going on?” Byleth sat up, floundering in her oceans of silk that had suddenly ensnared her, because her foot had just sprung up and kicked a hole through the front of the gown. “Was this one of Seteth’s plots? To get me to the bees?”</p><p>Flayn’s face betrayed a brief wave of confusion. “Bees?”</p><p>“The bees, Flayn, the bees!”</p><p>Byleth flailed in a not-very-queenly manner. She kicked aggressively at the fabric. It felt hot in here. Was it hot? Yeah, it was hot.</p><p>Byleth collapsed back on the bed, panting, surrendering on the whole “I had some hope for this dress, perhaps I can save it” debacle and spread her arms out beside her on the mattress. “Flayn, I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” The words left her mouth quicker than she could control. Despite herself, she felt tears prick her eyes. “This stupid dress, the hair, the, the…” Her voice trailed off, mind going blank, with no snarky comment from the ageless goddess.</p><p>“... Bees?” Flayn warranted a guess with a considerate amount of caution. She walked over and sat down on the bed, her presence gently sinking the mattress to the side. </p><p>Her hands shot up in the air. “Yes! The bees!” Byleth sat up, green hair draping unceremoniously around her. “Oh, goddess.” She raked two shaky hands in her hair. “I have no objection to bees!”</p><p>“... Nor do I?” Flayn raised a brow. Byleth rambled on. </p><p>“But I am not fit for the bees or the gowns or the ceremonies or the- ugh,” Byleth sunk, small frame hunching over dejectedly. “I am not the right person.” She swallowed hard. “For any of this.”</p><p>All of the effort put forth into not crying almost chipped the dam she had built. Her ears felt hot under her tendrils of unkempt hair. Byleth grabbed a handful and tried to pull it up off her neck, hands shaking so much that she couldn’t tie the leather band around it. She exhaled in an excuse about how she was just nervous about seeing everyone this evening (true), frustrated about the clothes (also true), and pent up in a stressful ball of negative energy from this event and only this, and no, she promised Flayn, this stress was not built up over a long amount of time (very, very false). </p><p>Byleth sat like this for a while, staring up at the ceiling with her eyes feeling heavy. The only other time she remembered this sensation was kneeling over her father’s body as the rain weighted down her coat and slickened the dirt underneath the both of them. Even now, Byleth felt the weight of Jeralt’s head on her lap and his large frame cradled between her arms as she sobbed. Normally the pressure would be settled on her shoulders heavily. But every now and then, she would feel it as an imaginary sword in her hand, or sticky against her hands like blood, or in the gasps of the Empress and former students she cradled as they heaved their last breaths, asking if they were comfortable or if they could find it in their hearts to forgive her-</p><p>A gentle hand reached out and took Byleth’s shaking hand, lowering it and wrestling the tie from her clasped fingers. “Byleth,” Flayn’s soft voice was always a confident one, but when she talked Byleth down from her spiraling thoughts of dread and all things dreadful (trademarked by Flayn herself) it had the reinforcement of a parent. Firm but loving. Give and take. Like the sea in the fishing season, like a summer sun, the sound and warmth reminding Byleth of what she was now.</p><p>“We can send everyone away and not have a reunion.” Flynn offered, fingers separating the hair into three different parts. “You do seem rather upset. We can always have them back later.”</p><p>For a moment, Byleth actually considered doing just that. She was tempted to tell Flayn to convince Seteth for an off day, shut the doors and curl up in the vast sea of bed she had (it was huge, she wasn’t used to a bed so large) and listen closely, for just a sigh, a whisper, a hum from the progenitor goddess that dwelled within her once. Sothis had guided Byleth, even before she was aware of it. A whisper in her mind, a tug at her heartstrings, a hesitation at a decision or thought. Byleth had relied on Sothis more than she had first realized, but it only became more evident as her post-war role carried on.</p><p>Instead, she dismissed the thought with the wave of a hand. "Ha! Thank you, Flayn. I wouldn't dare miss the chance to see the little ones." Byleth stood up from the mattress and walked to the mirror, feeling the strands of hair weaving through Flayn’s spread fingers. The queen stood in front of the mirror and tugged her long hair over a shoulder, eyes scanning her reflection.</p><p>The reflection was not a war torn mercenary. It wasn’t a frightened girl. It was not the powerful goddess infused woman who had won the war and was praised for the peace she brought to Fodlan. It was a ruler who had no conscious clue why she was here, wearing not armor, but a torn dress. The reflection’s brows creased momentarily. The mirror was supposed to build confidence. Byleth was looking for a shred of that old mercenary from earlier, the fighter. But instead...</p><p>Why didn’t Byleth see herself?</p><p>A gentle hand brought Byleth out of her trance. “You’re still Byleth to me, you know.” Flayn’s motherly voice was cheerful, accompanied by the girl’s saintly smile. Oh, she looked so much like Rhea, so much like Byleth herself. How could something so sweet be related to Seteth?</p><p>Byleth gave back to Flayn what she hoped was a confident grin that said, “Thank you, I know.” But it must have come out as a warbly half smile that came out more along the lines of, ‘Thanks, I really need more love and comfort. Would you happen to know a counselor that isn’t Seteth?’, because the smaller girl crashed into Byleth’s legs, hugging her arms tightly around her and nestling her cheek against Byleth’s stomach. Byleth’s hands drew down and landed on the small girl’s back, returning the embrace unsteadily.</p><p>“It can be hard, I know.” Flynn’s voice was grated through tight lips, trying to keep closed to avoid a sob or sigh slipping out. “But, with this hair or not, this body or not, this blood and heart or not, you are still Byleth Eisner.”</p><p>… Eisner.</p><p>It had been so long since Byleth had heard her last name that she had forgotten what it sounded like, tasted like rolling off her tongue. </p><p>Flayn stepped back, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I’ll tell the seamstress to bring up your gown. Seteth had it custom made.” Flayn sniffled, but squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, the pale green irises crisp compared to the blotted tears forming moments ago. “Ask not how he got your measurements. I do not know. Perhaps Anna gave it to him.”</p><p>Byleth gave a curt nod. “Thank you. And… ensure it does not have thousands of decorative holes. Or else I will be adding more.” For emphasis, Byleth waved and waggled her ripped sleeve, torn along the seam. “They will be far less aesthetically pleasing, I assure you that much.”</p><p>Flayn hooted a laugh with her shoulders drawing in, nodding. “Yes, yes, I shall. I’ll come up with Seteth to help prepare you.” As Byleth opened her mouth to remind Flayn that she would prefer a stunning lack of insects for her ceremony preparation, Flayn added, “With no bees. I pinkie promise.”</p><p>Byleth’s mouth shut, and she nodded. “No bees is the best number of bees. Thank you.” Flayn gave a final giggle at the comment and slipped out the heavy bedroom door. Byleth was surprised at how easily Flayn could open and shut it, considering even she had troubles when it came to opening and closing it.</p><p>Byleth turned to the mirror and examined herself one final time. The eyes that stared back were brilliantly viridescent, not the dark marine she was used to. Even now, after hosting the new hair and eye colors, she was shocked by her own reflection.</p><p>Byleth stepped closer to the mirror, inhaling softly. She pressed a palm against the reflective silver, leaning in close. The rest of her was still the same- the same childish cheeks, the same curved nose, the same full lips. Jeralt said she looked painfully like her mother. She sometimes wished she had inherited more of her father’s rough features, just so she could catch a small glimpse of him day-by-day. It hurt Byleth, knowing that, even in his own daughter, she would never see Jeralt again. </p><p>The words formed on her lips, her tongue shaping the syllables she had once been proud to say. It was like riding a horse for the first time in years- remembering how to do it, but uneasy and unconfident.</p><p>“Byleth Eisner.”</p><p>Nope. Byleth Eisner still was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>_____</p><p> </p><p>Ashe startled awake to his sister tapping him. “Ashe! Ashe!” She chanted. “Aaaaaashe!”</p><p>The knight rubbed his eyes, sitting upright on his horse. “What?” Riding and sleeping was a talent he had picked up on the years of rebellion, when Byleth was slumbering. He blinked a couple of times to adjust to the light, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small groan. “Are we almost there?” He glanced back at the children in the back of the wagon that one of his personal guard was pulling on their large horse.</p><p>Adeline giggled and crossed her arms on the railing of the wagon. “No! People over there are calling your name!” She pressed her cheek on her forearms.</p><p>Ashe whipped around and looked at the direction he heard the faint yells coming from. He tugged back on the reigns of his horse slightly, squinting at the figures that rode up, kicking up dust behind the horse. “... Sylvain?”</p><p>“ASHE!” The redhead’s callings became clearer.</p><p>Ashe felt himself break into a grin. He turned his horse and kicked it. “Come on, Sterling.” He whipped the reigns, leaning forward on his horse. “SYLVAIN?”</p><p>The redhead whooped in joy and rode faster, slowing down as Sylvain jumped off his horse. “Ashe, you gallant gentleman!” Sylvain rushed over as Ashe climbed down. He slowed his pace. “Whoa, someone got beefy!” Sylvain wiggled his brows. “Does the lord have a little lady he needs to tell me about?” The redhead threw his head back in laughter, just happy to see an old friend. “If so, you’ve come to the right guy.”</p><p>Ashe was smiling so hard, he could swear his cheeks hurt. “It’s good to see you too, my friend.” The archer threw his arms around Sylvain, who laughed and hugged him back. “And no lady. Just training.”</p><p>“Gotta stay on your toes? I like that.” Sylvain looked back as a white mare trotted up, a giggling woman on the back. She pushed her veil to the side. </p><p>“Goodness, Sylvain!” Mercedes chided. “You keep riding that fast and I’ll be too far behind to catch up.” She propped her chin on her hand and giggled, smiling sweetly at Ashe. “Well, hello! Sylvain and I thought it was you.” She gathered her skirts and began to slide off the saddle, only to have the redhead bustle over and catch her waist. </p><p>“Mercie, you’re in no shape to be slipping and sliding.” He guided her gently to the ground, easily, despite the polished armor he bore. “And you should stay off your feet.”</p><p>“Oh, Sylvain, such a soft hearted man.” Mercedes walked over to Ashe and hugged him, touch motherly. “Ashe, you look well.” She pulled away and smiled at him, eye level. Mercedes beamed brightly. “More grown, if I dare say!”</p><p>“As do you, Mercedes. I daresay you look like you have a… well, a glow.” Ashe grinned and moved away to grab his horse’s reins, shushing Sterling as he gently patted the horse’s fuzzy muzzle affectionately. “You seem to have flourished.”</p><p>“The gift of motherhood’ll do that- oh, Sothis.” Sylvain smacked a hand on his face. “I ruined it.”</p><p>Mercedes giggled again, gently reaching out and touching Sylvain’s arm. “You ruined nothing, Sylvain.” The man looked at her, eyes sparkling, forever grateful for Mercedes’ never-ending mercy. His worship for her was obvious in the expression in his eyes. Ashe felt a suspicion sneak up on him. How had he not seen it earlier? Was it quiet then? Were they…?</p><p>“You’re a mother?” Ashe raised his brows. “Since when? With whom?” Wow, Ashe felt a little shameful. He had kept out of touch with his former classmates. </p><p>“I, her husband, am whom.” Sylvain stared at Mercedes with what Abbie would call ‘goo-goo eyes’. “When is four months.” The knight gasped with glee. “I can make father jokes now!”</p><p>“... father jokes?” Mercedes blinked. How blissfully unaware she was of the dangerous valleys of father jokes. Ashe chuckled, a couple from Lonato coming to mind, usually to annoy Christophe.</p><p>“Ya know! ‘Hi, Hungry, I’m father’- all that good stuff.” Sylvain winked at his wife. “Oh, I have tons. I’ve been writing them all down-”</p><p>“I hate to break off this conversation,” said Ashe, who did not hate to break off this conversation, “But we really should be going. You can come along with my convoy. We’re only just behind them.” Ashe and Sylvain took the gallant duty to help Mercedes onto her horse despite her protests (“Really, I’m only pregnant, not mortally ill!”). Ashe pulled himself up on Sterling, readjusting the quiver that was strapped to his saddle. “We have a wagon that would be more comfortable for you, Mercedes. As long as you don’t mind sharing with my sister and brother.”</p><p>“Oh!” The woman gasped with delight. “Oh, we’ll get to meet the little ones?” She giggled and clasped her hands before taking her reins quickly. “You’ve spoken so much about them, and yet we’ve never met them.” Mercedes adjusted herself in her sidesaddle, clearly eager to ride ahead. A dazzling grin split her face as she looked at her husband, using a free hand to pull her travel veil back over her face to keep dust away.</p><p>Sylvain threw his leg over his steed, his shin armor clinking against the shield he had strapped on the side. “Yeah, Ashe. In fact, speaking of speaking, we haven’t spoken since… what, six months ago? Haven’t heard a word from you since.” </p><p>Ashe allowed a nervous chuckle to escape his lips. “Well, you know, lord-ish duties and all.” He smoothed a hand in his hair. “Busier than I expected, I suppose. Plus, two kids to raise, knight training, so on and so forth.” The war had ended seven months ago, and Ashe had left quickly afterward to tend to the estate he had inherited. Indeed, repairs had taken time, but Ashe had found it rewarding to fix it. At this point, the estate was his pride and joy. He found it to be quite the honor to help people now that he was in a position of power. As he snapped out of his musings, Ashe shrugged, chuckling gently. “I should have kept up with you more. I wish I had known all of this.”</p><p>The couple looked at one another, and Mercedes glanced back towards Ashe. “We would love to ride with you! Meeting your family would be delightful.” After the chirp of declaration, she glanced at Sylvain, who nodded in agreement.</p><p>“Sure! We’d love to.” He agreed and motioned to Ashe. “Lord Ubert, or Durain, or whatever you choose to go by, please lead the way.”</p><p>“It would be my honor and pleasure as a knight.” Ashe tilted his head at Sylvain in a playful nod of respect before rearing his horse. “To the monastery!”</p><p>Mercedes reined her tawny mare next to Sylvain’s black stallion. She shifted in her seat with her trademark gentle giggle. “The monastery!” The couple echoed, raising their fists with a laugh from the three of them. </p><p>Ashe kicked Sterling into action. The horse snorted and broke out into a gallop down the road after the Ubert convoy. He heard his heartbeat matching Sterling’s hooves, he heard the wind carry Sylvain’s jubilant whooping, and his spirit soared. Everything would be alright once more, and life would carry on back to the way they once were. Some things simply never changed.</p><p>And yet, even as the everchanging wind rustled his hair and carried the distant fanfares of Garreg Mach to him, he found a crevice of his heart that wondered, nay- dared to hope, that some things would take a shift.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>comment your fav dad joke, i need some quippy sylvain lines</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ashe lowered his sister off the cart. "Be careful." He reached up and helped his brother before lifting up Mercedes and setting her down gently. "I'm glad we left so early. I was worried we wouldn't be here on time." He glanced back as Sylvain spoke to the stablehand, who was counting out gold pieces and handing them over.</p><p>"It feels odd, coming back here." Mercedes picked up Abe, resting him on the curve if her hip. "Good, I mean, but still odd."</p><p>Sylvain jogged back over and grinned. "We have rooms set aside for us." He picked up Mercedes' luggage and hauled the bag over his shoulder. "Your husband was smart about to bring a little extra gold, we have a nice big room that overlooks the lovely mountains. Shall I give you a tour?"</p><p>Mercedes laughed lightly. "Sylvain, we both went to school here." She lowered Abe, who wanted to run around and explore the lower courtyard. Mercedes lovingly watched the boy, a hand moving to her stomach without much thought. </p><p>Ashe hurried after Abe and picked him up. "Listen, you two. No galavanting without me. I don't want you two getting lost." The two children giggled, nodding nonchalantly before sprinting off again towards the greenhouse. With a sigh, Ashe crossed his arms, but he couldn't prevent a small smile from playing on his lips.</p><p>Sylvain glanced back. "Uh oh. Don't look now, but…" he nodded across the courtyard. "It's mister grumpy himself." Sylvain furrowed his brow and deepened his voice to imitate Felix. "The Boar prince is a monstrosity!" He growled. "I have made my arrival at the party, now it shall be killed."</p><p>"Oh, Sylvain!" Mercedes giggled. Her voice carried a mist of warning over the sea of sweetness. "Don't be mean!"</p><p>"I can still hear, you know." Felix frowned as he walked over, looking exasperated of his presence here already. His gaze at the trio was filled with some amount of fondness, though. "I'm not deaf, Sylvain."</p><p>The redhead laughed. "It's good to see you, too." He gestured at Mercedes. "Felix, have you met my wife-"</p><p>Mercedes giggled and hurried forward, clasping Felix's hands. "It's so good to see you, Felix!" She chirped. Her smile was bright and cheery, which caused her husband’s face to light up and forget that Felix was highly likely to kill him as soon as his hands were free.</p><p>Despite this, Felix offered a soft expression in return. “It’s pleasant to see you, too, Mercedes.” He patted her hand politely before his eyes turned to Ashe. His brows raised and he adjusted his stance. ‘Well, well, well. The boy that tried to kill us.”</p><p>Ashe’s throat felt dry all of a sudden. “I- Felix,” His voice cracked, ready to raise protests and point at his siblings and tell Felix that his reasons for fighting were right there. His palms felt sweaty all of a sudden, especially as he felt little hands tug at the pants of his trousers. Abe. What would his little ones think?</p><p>"I do. I don't… I can't say I blamed you." Felix cleared his throat, adding the last part softly. </p><p>Abe pressed his cheek on Ashe's thigh and asked, "Ashe, who's that?" His voice was soft, timid, but Ashe’s ears were well trained enough to pick up on the smallest of sounds. All thanks to being a sniper, an archer, a knight. The warmth of his little brother’s cheek gave him the courage to speak.</p><p>Gingerly, Ashe smoothed down Abe’s mop of hair. “That, Abe,” He knelt down, keeping his eyes trained on Felix. “Is Felix. He’s one of the bravest men I know.” Felix snorted and glanced away, and Ashe moved his eyes to the young boy. “One of the best knights I know. One time, I saw him take on an entire regiment with a sword and an injured hand.”</p><p>Almost upon the words worship filled Abe’s eyes. In hushed awe, he whipped to Felix and ran over. “Really?” His palms clasped together, voice rising shrilly.</p><p>Felix smoothed back his mussy hair, cheeks an unflattering shade of pink. He mumbled something as he looked down at Abe, before catching Sylvain grinning, Cheshire style. The (slightest little bit of it!) affection in his eyes melted over and boiled into anger. His face flushed further. “Sylvain,” The word was gruff.</p><p>“How sweet!” Sylvain goaded, leaning forward innocently with his fingers interlocked and batting his eyes. “The widdwe boy wants to be your fwiend!”</p><p>A yelp of excitement came from Abe, who bounced. “He’s right! I do!” Abe nodded his head excitedly, locks bouncing on his forehead.</p><p>Despite the word ‘murder’ clearly written on Felix’s face, Ashe gave a laugh and ushered Abby to Mercedes. The lady gave a slight giggle and pressed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Sylvain, be nice.”</p><p>“I am! I’m very nice.” Sylvain winked at Felix, who scowled and moved a hand towards his sword.</p><p>“Very nice,” Mercedes nodded and wrapped her hand around Sylvain’s arm. “But I do believe it is time for us to go find the others and the professor.” She gave him a small squeeze around his bicep, glancing at Ashe. “Ashe, why don’t you and Felix take the children and get them to the dining hall? We’ll meet you in the audience chambers.” Mercedes encouraged her husband with a final tug on his arm. “Come along, Sylvain.”</p><p>Relief flooded Ashe, though Felix was still gritting his jaw. Ashe could hear his teeth grinding against one another. “Felix, Mercedes has a point. Abe and Abbie are hungry, let’s take them to get some food, then you and I can go find the Profes- Archbishop.”</p><p>Archbishop felt weird to say. Ashe still thought of Rhea. Stoic and sometimes cold, sometimes pretentious, although well-meaning in her ways and words. That wasn’t his professor. No, Byleth was different.</p><p>In all the good ways.</p><p>A small smile rose on Ashe’s cheeks as he climbed up the stone steps towards the refurbished dining hall. He glanced back over the fishing pond and caught his grin widening. It hadn’t changed. The old baitkeeper stood by the dock, talking to students and selling worms and minnows. The scent of the water mingled with the smell arising from the dining hall, making Ashe’s stomach remind him it was empty. He turned his attention back to the door and bustled into the dining hall. He ran his eyes over the new students.</p><p>“Strange, isn’t it?” Felix’s voice wafted from Ashe’s left. “The very first time Garreg Mach has been united under one flag.”</p><p>“But it’s incredible.” Ashe glanced around at the new students, all gussied up in their uniforms, mingling with no care of where they were from. The pressures of aligning with geographical loyalties were gone. </p><p>An agreeable and comfortable silence formed between the duo as they observed their old stomping grounds. Felix spoke first. “Come on. We can’t be late.” He walked ahead and gestured Ashe to follow him with a lazy flick of his elongated fingers. “They’d never let us forget if we were late to this of all things.” His tone was flat as usual, but they held an eager lilt that matched his eager steps to get to the audience chambers.</p><p>With the warmth of familiarity fell over Ashe, who grinned and followed Felix out the dining hall and into the entrance hall.</p><p>_____</p><p> </p><p>Byleth paced the audience chamber, wringing out her nerves. Her long dark robe pooled towards the floor, heavy but comfortable. She fidgeted, reaching up to fiddle with the crown for the one-millionth time. Her lips pursed in distaste as Seteth warned her to not mess with it. Byleth drew her hand away, moving to where Flayn was calmly straightening the tapestries on the wall. “Flayn, are you ready to see your old classmates?”</p><p>“I could say the same to you, Byleth!” Flynn chirped in an annoyingly merry tone. “I’m quite excited to see everyone, especially Ignatz.” She finished smoothing down the silky fabric and stepped away to admire the glimmering crest of flames that shone brilliantly. “The flag of Fodlan. You know you did an amazing job rebuilding everything.” Flayn </p><p>“I just gave orders and picked supplies.” She shook her head but recalled the turmoil it took to anchor the crown into her hair and stopped. Byleth settled for fiddling with a long strand of hair. “I helped here and there, sure, but I didn’t do much aside.” Really, Byleth had wanted windows. More glass. She loved how the sun poured in from the greens and purples and speckled the floor like a lush field of violets. As Flayn droned on about something, Byleth’s eyes trickled to the window above the tapestry that allowed sunlight in. Sometimes, Byleth would stand in the light and allow the colors to stain her dress and imagine that she actually was in a field of violets, running her hands over the felty petals of the violets, tickling her fingers with their stalks, laying back in the grass and inhaling the flora of the lands.</p><p>Her daydream was ended too soon as Seteth spoke over Flayn’s muffled words. “Archbishop Byleth, it’s time for us to greet your former soldiers.”</p><p>Byleth turned to him, blinking the haze of fantasy out of her eyes. “Oh. Alright. I’ll…” She glanced around, looking for where to stand. “I’ll wait right here!” She moved to the middle of the room with more confidence than she felt. Her knees began to feel wobbly again. How was it that in this room she felt so tiny? Well, it was a big room, but still...</p><p>Seteth nodded to the guard, who opened the heavy door. The ancient wood creaked on the hinges, and Byleth’s breath hitched. She felt herself smile, really actually smile, when Ferdinand entered with Bernendetta trailing closely, and glanced at the other entering veterans. The space in her chest warmed up as she glanced at Dorthea and Petra. “Hello, students.” Was her voice supposed to crack? She was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to crack. Emotions were not Byleth’s strong suits.</p><p>Suddenly, Byleth didn’t feel so alone.</p><p>Dorthea was the first to run forward with Petra. Byleth hurried to meet them, throwing her arms around them and hugging them. “Professor!” Dorthea sniffled, brushing a strand of hair off her shoulder. “Or, should I say, Archbishop.” The songstress pulled away and wiped her face, glancing at Petra as she wiped her sleeve under her damp eye. </p><p>“Yes! It is giving me great joy to see you once more, professor!” Petra beamed at Byleth brilliantly. “Life is not being- er, is not been the same without you.” She clasped Byleth’s hands, and Byleth suddenly realized how calloused Petra’s hands were. Byleth’s hands felt soft. Without meaning to, Byleth drew her hands away. Petra’s eyes sparked with a tint of embarrassment. “I apologize, I did not mean to-”</p><p>“Oh, no, Petra!” Byleth made quickly to pretend to straighten her crown. “This silly old thing, it has a habit of falling.” Upon seeing Petra’s relief, Byleth exhaled a steady breath. “I see everyone so far, where’s Caspar?”</p><p>Ferdinand von Aeiger stepped forward and took Byleth’s hand and kissed it happily and respectfully. “Archbishop, Caspar is still roaming. He’ll be a few days late.” </p><p>Byleth gave a small laugh. “Oh, you haven’t changed. Bernendetta!” Byleth exclaimed upon seeing her but quieted when the girl startled with a soft squeak. “I’m so happy to see that you’re doing well. You seem to be happy.” Bernendetta gave a nod and a generic semi-positive sound of affirmation, moving aside quickly so Lindhardt could bow lazily. “Did I wake you up from your nap, Lindhardt?”</p><p>“I’m afraid not, Professor.” Lindhardt straightened up, smiling, and despite the obvious slumber on his face, his eyes ignited with great curiosity. “But you must allow me to examine your crest. I would not have come otherwise, as last time you did not permit me to.” His eyes flicked lazily to Seteth, which meant that Seteth specifically would not permit the young scholar to examine Byleth.</p><p>A noise of objection came from Seteth. “I’m afraid she-”</p><p>Byleth waved a hand at Seteth, feeling her old self worm its way back into her brain. This felt good! Normal, even! “Lindhardt, if the time ever opens to find me available, I would be more than happy to allow it. However, I cannot speak for my right-hand man and left-hand girl.” At her mention, Flayn emitted a cheerful giggle. </p><p>The other students poured in, crowding around Byleth. She was their beloved professor, their trusted comrade, their equal. Byleth hugged and shook hands, she would have kissed them all if she could. She moved her hair back from her exposed neck and collarbone, replying to comments. Yes, being the archbishop was fun, yes she did include more windows and free hours. No, she didn’t mind being called professor still or even still sparring with the students in her own free time. Her agony of loneliness withered away for a moment, laughing at something Ingrid remarked on (her too-long hair, her too-soft hands, her too-quiet chest?) when she happened to glance at the thrown open doors.</p><p>Felix had just entered and was now engaged in a rather intense looking conversation with Sylvain, and Mercedes, ever the saint, was trying to buffer the situation. Along with him, Ashe Durian was casually talking to Raphael, green eyes wandering at the familiar faces. They moved from Lorenz to Marianne back to Raphael. The way his eyes moved enchanted Byleth. Not slowly, but confidently. They flicked to seteth in the most mesmerizing sweep Byleth had ever seen.</p><p>And then his eyes landed on her. No, not landed on her, his eyes caught hers. </p><p>Byleth felt her nonexistent heart jump into her throat and pump blood at the speed of light. She kept her heated face only mildly pink, eyes still engaged with Ashe. She gave her best attempt at a smile she could. Had he grown this much on a matter of half a year? Wisened? His gaze was more vivid than she remembered.</p><p>Something must have visually been off with Byleth, because Seteth was next to her in moments, whispering, “Are you alright, Archbishop?”</p><p>Byleth tore her gaze away from Ashe, and she smiled at Seteth timidly. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Why?” Her tone struggled to stay casual, but she managed to keep it as un-breathy as possible. Which was quite a Bit, Byleth had been good at lying to Seteth for a while not.</p><p>“May I cut in?” Ashe’s voice rung clear, loud. It was as if he was right next to her- ah, he was. Byleth turned to Ashe. His presence was clear and cut assertive, but soft in tone. The violets in the grass came back to Byleth’s mind, how they were obviously there but their presence was gentle and a constant reminder of their existence.</p><p>Turning to him, Byleth smiled. “Lord Durian. Or is it Lord Ubert?” She beamed at him, a genuine smile replacing the phony one she had given Seteth a moment ago.</p><p>Ashe grinned in return, his old childlike expression returning. He took her hand and pulled it up as he bowed, kissing it with reverence. He looked back into her eyes as he stood, a silver strand of hair moving on his forehead. “You can call me whatever you wish to call me, Your Holiness.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ENDING IT ON A CLIFFHANGER EH</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ah! I am back! I had a class to do! Life is busy! But please, do enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ashe had not intended that to come out as salaciously as that had. But it seeing Byketh's face, eyes slightly wide in surprise and lips quirked up in a slight smile, he realized he wouldn't apologize. That expression was one that he wished she could keep forever. </p><p>He stood up, cheeks pink, and gave a smile to Byleth. He looked at Seteth and realized that, no wait, he should probably make an attempt to apologize. Seteth's face was a stirring storm as if the aid was trying to determine to throw out Ashe now or later. Ashe’s cheeks flushed slightly pink and he said gently, “I apologize if the kiss came off as too forward, archbishop.” Ashe wanted to hard to remember his place, his lower link in the chain up to the queen and progenitor goddess. The way she quirked her lips and tilted her head stirred his heart, her vibrant eyes sparking in him like a million little firecrackers. His apology was met with a strained noise from Flayn, who was staring at the small congregating group with a delighted intensity. </p><p>Seteth turned his head to scold her, and Flayn hurried over to him, words hushed, but obviously argumentative. The two moved away, due to Flayn tugging on Seteth’s sleeve, but they remind close enough where Seteth could observe. Byleth turned away from watching the father-daughter duo and gave a smile to Ashe. </p><p>“No need to apologize, Ashe.” She reached up and messed with her hair, a slight downward tug on her lips. She caught his gaze flicker down to her hair. “Oh. I’m not used to my hair being this long. Like this.” Byleth gave a nervous chuckle, pulling her hair over one shoulder.</p><p>Ashe’s eyes moved to her fingers messing with her hair. Her hair at this length was so pretty, the way it draped around her and swayed with her movement. It added elegance, and it almost made her look misplaced to him. For a second Ashe was thrown. “May I ask you something, your holiness?” He straightened up, eyes moving back up to hers.</p><p>“Yes,” Byleth replied, almost too quickly, seeming eager to change the subject. She drew her hands down from messing with her hair. Ashe’s gaze drifted over her shoulder to her aid.</p><p>Seteth’s eyes flitted from his sister’s spry hand movements to Byleth and Ashe. His brows narrowed when he noted Ashe glancing at him, stance widening and body turning a little towards him. A frustrated Flayn grabbed Seteth’s elbow and yanked on him, tugging him towards where Ignatz was admiring the newest inputs of the stained glass windows.</p><p>Ashe’s eyes moved back to Byleth, and he gave her a gentle smile. “Well, perhaps it can wait.” Now would not be the wisest time to ask Byleth about the war, her recovery. Her stance seemed different. For some reason, and Ashe only noticed this in a dress that exposed her collarbone and the graceful slope of her shoulders, her stance had slumped. The proud archbishop was weighed down by more than just the duties of repairing a school. “I believe, for now, we should just enjoy our old friends.”</p><p>Her green eyes darted down. “Ah. Well, if you insist.” Byleth gave him an unsteady smile, neck still stiff, and her hand drew softly up to her chest. </p><p>Ashe’s eyes moved to the crown on her head. “That was Rhea’s?”</p><p>Byleth seemed to come back to life. She smiled and drew the hand against her chest to the ornament. “Yes. On a far simpler scale, though.” Her touch seemed sentimental, mournful even.</p><p>Ashe chuckled and nodded, about to comment- on what, he was not sure. Perhaps a remark about the way the sun glistened on it, perhaps how the weight of this crown was sinking on her, perhaps something about her eyes, how they were still as-</p><p>An elbow was on Ashe’s shoulder, and Raphael beamed next to him. “Professor! Tell me, how much have you changed about the school?”</p><p>Byleth not only came back to life, but she seemed to reanimate. She chuckled and readjusted, the slump sliding off her shoulders. “Not the food, Raphael.” Her smile brightened, and without knowing what it would do, glanced at Ashe.</p><p>He drew in a slight breath. Her eyes, those blessed jades, alight with joy, her curved nose rumpling mid-grin - if she was not known to be the progenitor goddess before, then he would have assumed that at this moment, she was a goddess of some sort. He recovered quicker than he had expected to, the air began flowing normally in his body again. </p><p>Ashe chuckled and shrugged off Raph, looking up at the larger wrestler. “Anyone trying to change your food would be in poor choice of foes, Raph.” Ashe stepped back and gestured up at him. “Look at you! You’re so much larger!”</p><p>Raphael turned a tad pink and puffed out his chest with pride, a laugh booming from his giant stature. “Aw, you noticed!”</p><p>“It’s hard not to,” Byleth chided, moving closer to Ashe to scan Raphael. “You’ve kept up with your training?”</p><p>Raphael scoffed, moving an arm up to flex it. “Of course, professor!”</p><p>The archbishop gave a nod of approval, grinning and moving a hand to touch both of the men’s shoulders. “Excuse me for the rudeness, but I believe I should mill about. I look forward to seeing the two of you later.” Byleth moved past the both of them, graceful. Was it just Ashe’s imagination, or did Byleth’s fingers squeeze his arm gently? His whole arm, then his whole body, felt warm.</p><p>Raphael grinned and turned to watch their former professor hurry to Marianne, who had been standing back and watching from afar with Hilda. “Wow. The professor has really made something of herself, huh?” He crossed his arms.</p><p>Ashe’s spine went cold when he heard these words. The archbishop. The archbishop had made something of herself. Byleth was not his professor, she was his queen, his leader. The confidence Byleth carried herself with here, around these former students who were now leading successful and happy lives, was undeniable. But for a moment, Ashe couldn’t deny the moment of sadness flitting across her statuesque face. His arms crossed, copying Raphael’s stance, and Ashe’s weight shifted onto his back foot as he forced his gaze to the stained glass window above them all. The green was bright from the sun, but the purple outshone it brilliantly, pouring the daydream he had of lilacs and violets down on the floor and the heads of all these people that Byleth now ruled. Including him.</p><p>A tone of reluctance filled his voice. “She has,” The knight agreed softly. “She certainly has.”</p><p>_____</p><p>Byleth shook her head as Marianne bowed deeply. With her head bowed low, Marianne’s hushed voice emerged, slightly trembling at the closeness of the goddess. "Your grace, I don’t-"</p><p>"Marianne! Stand up." Byleth chuckled and walked over, gently aiding the young woman to a full stand. "You're embarrassing me." Her grip was gentle but coaxing and guiding. </p><p>“I don’t deserve to be in the presence of the goddess.” Marianne kept her eyes down. “None of us truly do.”</p><p>Something hit the ribs of Byleth’s ribs. Surely it wasn’t her heart, for she didn’t have a beating one, but she recognized the pain. “I am no goddess, I am your friend.” Byleth’s teeth were coated with a slickness, probably ill residue from the half-lie. Byleth was holding the power of Sothis, but she wanted to not. She wanted Sothis back. Did Sothis know that getting this ultimate power meant such loneliness to Byleth? “Please, Marianne, treat me as you would treat a professor.”</p><p>“Even so, you’re my queen.”</p><p>“I’m your friend first.” Byleth gently wove her arm in Marianne’s. “I want to be spoken to as such.” Suddenly, she felt tense. Byleth felt the stiffness swell up again. Just when she thought she would be back to normal, here she was, her own former students groveling.</p><p>When Marianne remained quiet, Hilda hurried back over to her side. “Sure, Your Highness! Mari, come on! Chin up! You’ve been so excited to come back here.” Hilda took Marianne’s other arm chipperly and shot Byleth a happy wink. “Forgive Marianne, she’s just so nervous.”</p><p>Byleth’s lips were tight as she smiled. “Oh, she doesn’t need to be.” Despite Marianne’s modest nods, Byleth felt somewhat slighted and hurt. So, this was her life now. Lauded as a god, worshipped as a queen, never to be seen as a human again.</p><p>Doubt filled her empty chest. Raphael, Dorthea, Ashe, Petra… was she still even half-human to them? She would take even half-human at this point. The desperation tasted better in her throat. Seteth holding her to such high esteem and standards was kind and rather flattering, and often, Byleth laughed and brushed it off or tried to keep it casual, but when that was so involved in her day to day life it was nearly impossible. </p><p>Her fingers curled against the silky fabric of her dress, and she gently unfurled her arm from Marianne’s. “Excuse me,” She muttered, moving towards the door.</p><p>Seteth was rushing to her, not seeming to mind making a scene. “Archbishop, you look pale.” He took her arm as if he was frightened she would fall. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Byleth glanced back at the room. Indeed, her students had paused mid-conversation to look on at the exchange. The silence in the room was thick, tense. Worry clouded on their faces, Ingrid’s brow creased and Ignatz’s lips were parted, ready to ask a question or speak reassuring words. “Seteth,” Byleth’s voice was soft. She raised her voice and turned fully to her students, an easy grin flitting to her lips. “Please, enjoy yourselves. I was about to go get something to drink, I am quite thirsty.” Some to the chill on her lungs melted when a few of them returned to their normal conversation.</p><p>“Archbishop,” Seteth’s voice was low again. “I’ll have Flayn bring up something. You don’t look to be in good health.”</p><p>“I promise, I’m fine.” Another lie. They had always come so easy, her mercenary life melding with her religious leadership. What an oxymoron she was! The Ashen Deamon, the vessel of the Most Holy of Creators.</p><p>Byleth opened the heavy door and slipped out, hurrying down the hall and past the stairs. She nodded politely at the guard at her door as he opened her room to her. “Should I get you anything, Your Grace?”</p><p>“No, but is Seteth comes by, tell him I’ve thrown myself into the lake. That ought to distract him, hm?” Byleth breezed into her room, wincing slightly at the heavy shutting of the door.</p><p>Alone again. Not with a student, any advisors, and no Goddess chirping snide comments in her ear.</p><p>Byleth removed the crown from her head and placed it gently on the desk. She sat down at the stool and moved her hair over her shoulder, just to let the back of her neck get some air. That room had been too hot. It couldn’t be the dress, which dipped past her collarbone and exposed her shoulders. Byleth wasn’t used to the traditional bright colors that the Archbishop and Queen traditionally wore. She was not used to the long hair, or the flowing fabrics, or the elaborate prayers and words she had to speak.</p><p>A familiar heat warmed her cheeks, right under her eyes. She blinked, lashes suddenly damp with the presence of tears. Byleth brushed a finger softly against them, pulling her hand back to examine them. Tears weren’t a common action from Byleth. Again, the feelings of uncertainty flooded. Byleth had thought that the confusion was only an internal thing. Everyone at that meeting had been too formal. Marianne’s reaction was a little more understandable, based on how she reacted when talking of the goddess. Raphael hadn’t run up and crushed her in a huge hug, but instead had made a tame (for Raph, it was tame) remark about food. And Ashe…</p><p>He had called her Holy.</p><p>With a grunt, Byleth stood and moved to her wardrobe, flicking through her outfits. She had to get out of this. But the way Ashe had said it, “your holiness”, had warmed Byleth from the inside out. Even thinking about it now bubbled up a softness. And yet, it was obvious, in all their actions.</p><p>Not even her closest friends could see where Sothis stopped and Byleth began. And, again, the loneliness coursed through her veins, pumped by an empty and mute heart.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ah, that sweet sweet slow burn. Poor Ashe, I have plans for you &gt;:)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS TOOK FOREVER BECAUSE SCHOOL IS ROUGH, HAVE A SHORT BAD CHAPTER</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ashe hurried down the stone steps towards the dining hall. He ran his finger along the stone wall as the steps spiraled down, bow-worn hands smoothing along the eroded stone wall. He wondered how many students had traced their hand along this wall as well. Ashe whistled a tune, enjoying the reverberation ringing off of the walls. His leather boots against the stone made gentle </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span>s, comforting Ashe's racing mind. Byleth's eyes haunted him. The brilliant green but dull life beneath, a barren swamp beneath a restless tide… that was not Byleth. Not the one he knew at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A strand of grey hair fell in front of his face. Ashe reached up and gently pushed it back. He sighed softly again, allowing himself to think of her. The way she said his name, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ashe</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't until light caught his eyes that he snapped out of his momentary daze. Ashe realized he was passing a window, the greens and yellows of the outdoors bleeding in. He paused and stared directly at the golden hues pouring in, the molten setting sun itself splotching his calloused fingers and pale skin. The light, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>warmth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, soaked him, the chill melting from his bones. Ashe sighed softly, turning gently towards the sun. His life as Lord Ubert, the Arrow of Justice, the Leading Hand of his people and home, it had all been around him, like the sun and light, but it all, the reality and weight, was beginning to seep in, like the warmth, like the waters of a beach, like the waves against a dry sand dune. Had Byleth ever had a moment to adjust to her role?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe opened his eyes and grimaced, lifting an arm to shield the overpowering sun before moving back down the stairs. She had one from orphan to savior, Ashen Deamon to the Most Holy of Holies. Ashe trotted over the last couple of steps, thoughts solidifying as his feet touched the flat stone of the ground floor. Such a difference, how much difference could one person have? The archer drummed his fingers on his leg, humming softly, allowing his legs to drag him down the hall and to his guest room on the second floor. He opened the door and gave a gentle smile as it creaked softly to reveal his siblings curled up in his bed, arms wrapped around one another snoring softly. Marianne or Mercedes must have slipped down after the get-together and helped them change into pajamas and get ready for bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah, well. He wasn't quite tired enough to move them. Ashe closed the door and walked back down the hall. His feet took him softly past many closed doors, Ashe's feet creeping quietly as he moved. One thing Ashe liked about his lean frame was how easy it was to sneak around. Hunting and sliding around and stalking prey was almost effortless for him. Since the war had ended, he had picked up on going alone on hunts, just to keep his skills sharp. He had learned to appreciate nature more and to better hone his skills. Did Byleth hunt? He recalled that she used to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ears fell deaf to the falling of his feet, eyes drawn up to the moon. He closed his eyes for a moment and basked in its light, humming gently. He was surprised it had already come up so high. Perhaps it was because of where he was in the monastery, up on the bridge by the cathedral. Ashe sighed, at bliss, at peace. Today had been good. His estate was getting repaired, his siblings had a home, a future. No longer were his precious siblings alone, moving from home to home, fleeing every time the war touched the cathedral they were staying at. They were going to have a home. His eyes remained closed, humming briefly. The bridge of Garreg Mach was a place he had spent many a lonely night after he had been recruited for the cause of the Church of Serios. How long had it been since he had been here? Just… being. Not thinking, not trying to best distribute unnecessary wealth, simply listening to his breathing and smelling the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t hear anyone coming. The steps were soft, barefoot on stone, so he didn’t even pick up until they drew closer. He opened his eyes and peered to the side, picking up on the retreating figure of Byleth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Queen Eisner. Archbishop Eisner.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ashe scolded himself. His voice rose, half-catching in his throat. “Your Holiness?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth grimaced. She had just wanted to sneak out and grab a snack. While Sothis was quiet, her stomach certainly wasn’t. And it seemed that Ashe was still up and calling her Holy. Half agony, half delight, gnawed at her stomach. “Oh. Ashe. I’m so sorry-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! Please, don’t be sorry.” He moved his hand up to his hair and swept the long strands back. “I was just… reminiscing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Byleth gathered the courage to walk a little closer, resting her arms on the stones of the side. “Today is a good day for that.” She felt herself chuckle softly. “What, with everyone coming, and being here-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you… are you alright? You look pale.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Byleth lifted a hand and examined it. “Oh. The moon, I suppose.” She stared at her arm in fascination, just for a second. The bright moon made her skin glow a hazy hue. “Yes, the moon.” Byleth shrugged her shirt tighter around her. It was one of the few things she kept and used still while being archbishop. It was coarse and rough, but the feeling of it on her skin brought her comfort, familiarity, as she slept. “That’s one thing I like about being here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe leaned on the wall, laugh soft and gentle. “Yes, I can see why. You know, I spent so much time here. Back during the war?” He picked up a loose pebble and gently tossed it off the wall. “I would just come here and think.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth stood, watching him, tugging the shirt closer against the bitter mountain wind. She watched him, gaze going soft. “Ashe?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced over at her, brows raised. “Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Byleth’s mouth faltered. What was she going to say? </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I missed you, I remember you just like this, you’re here, you’re really here-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Her throat could only allow, “I’m glad you’re here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned, cheeks rising and white teeth so perfect, that smile, she had missed it. “I was just on my way to the dining hall,” Byleth said quickly. Maybe if she didn’t look at his mouth, his freckled nose, this would be so much easier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should I accompany you, your highness?” His voice was earnest. Oh, damn his eyes, shining with honesty. “I… I don’t want you going alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She thumbed a hand over the textured sleeve of her shirt. “Why are you so formal?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe’s brows raised in shock. “Pardon?” A sliver of hair fell over his ear, and he pushed it back gently, eyes still fixated on Byleth. “Formal, your holiness?”</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, that made her ears ache. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your holiness, your highness, your grace, your most immaculate one, blah, blah. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Did they not know Byleth had a name? “You know you can just call me Byleth.” Her voice came out a tad shrill, which she realized when Ashe’s brows piqued in slight shock. Byleth inhaled deeply, quickly, and controlled her tone. “Or professor, even.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The archer blinked, a response failing him. “Oh. Um, I appreciate your concern, but, you’re a…” He drew in a breath, heavy. “It would be inappropriate.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How?” Her hands tightened their grip on her sleeves as she slid her arms up to cross over her chest. It was cold up here. The wind moaned, the mountains their instrument, bringing a melody of cold to her bones. “Ashe-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re cold.” The young lord observed. He reached up to his shoulders and tugged off the thick fur and moved behind her. His hands pressed the fur to her shoulders, positioning it around her. “Here, this will help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air ceased as the warmth embraced her. “You’ll be cold-” Byleth began to protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you are warm, I am warm.” Ashe moved his hands away from settling the fur on her shoulders. Was it just her, or did his fingers brush on her neck longer than they should have? “It would do me injustice to allow you to freeze.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so kind,” Byleth said softly, hands moving up to the furs. “You are,” Her protests raised as she detected a laugh, an ironic chuckle, coming from him. “Even when you defected-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” His smile dropped from his face and his eyes darted away, his arms leaning on the wall again. “Please, don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth found her mouth wiring shut with regret. Something in her -</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sothis? A remnant of her?</span>
  </em>
  <span>- stirred, chanting </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, my, what happened to you? Wouldn’t you normally push? Wouldn’t you try to ask, to get an answer?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Instead, her jaw moved, giving a blank “I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve gone soft, Eisner.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shuddered. How long had it been since she had called herself that? Byleth tugged the fur tighter around herself, eyes scanning the darkness of the mountains. “I remember those mountains.” Byleth’s eyes scanned them. The moon barely illuminated an outline, a fraction, of the mighty stones, and shone on the slivers of silver snow. “Trekking over them to get back to Garreg Mach. Sleeping under boulders and fallen trees when we had to.” Her pale fingertips traced the cracks of the stone. They had memorized the rough surface- a bump here, a divet there. “All of the students curled up together for warmth, sharing blankets.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smile returned to Ashe’s face as he leaned again, eyes scanning the wall next to her hands. “Heh. I do remember. It’s hard to forget the people you share a blanket with.” A laugh burbled between his lips. “Oh, goddess, Sylvain snores. I feel sorry for poor Mercedes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oddly enough, Byleth giggled, a hand drawing to her lips. “Petra sleep talks.” Upon Ashe’s surprised grunt, she nodded for emphasis, her laugh growing. “Yes! She does.” Byleth tossed her head back, unable to keep the laughter from pouring out of her lungs. Her chest burned with the cold air stinging from the inside out with each inhale. It wasn’t even that funny. But for some reason, she just had to laugh. Even though it was just a little silly memory, nothing more, Ashe was laughing with her. The laugher in Byleth’s chest grew thick, the mucus in her throat solidifying. The chuckles became encased in soughs, before she leaned on the wall, heavy, tears pricking her eyes, and heaving a sob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe stopped laughing, hurrying to her. “Your highness?” He hesitated. “If I did anything wrong-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Green hair curled against the nape of her neck in the collar of her shirt, softly bunching against her back. “The opposite, Ashe.” Her heart skipped, not for the first time that night. “You-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart skipped again, and her hand tugged to her chest. “You-” Byleth took in another breath, shaky, lungs panging when her lungs expanded. She leaned forward, inhaling slowly, not straining. “It’s good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me escort you to your room.” Ashe said, gently pulling her away from the wall. “This cold isn’t good for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Byleth considered fighting against his words. But on her next breath of air her lungs burned again and she nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, I… that would be good, Ashe.” Her reluctance to fight multiplied when she caught a glimpse of his face. Guilt filled his eyes as he took her arm tenderly and guided her inside to a staircase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walk upstairs was silent, only occasionally interrupted by Byleth’s occasional deep breaths. She found herself leaning against him some, head light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have asked Flayn to bring me something to eat.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Byleth turned her head towards Ashe, inhaling through her nose. “It’s better inside,” She said lightly. He was holding her arm tight, almost too tight. “I’m better now.” In Byleth;s stomach, anxiety paddled around like a swan. Nonstop, loud, and she was unable to see how frantically it was kicking under the water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hand on her arm loosened some. “I’ll walk you up nonetheless.” Ashe chided. His voice was tender with bruised concern. “If I were to leave the Archbishop to her own devices and she was hurt-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a flight of stairs up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“- That duty falls to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One flight of stairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A booming voice smacked her as soon as her foot touched the top stair. “Archbishop!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One flight of stairs, plus a Seteth,” Byleth grumbled. “Which is worse than one flight of stairs, plus a thousand more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The (not a saint) second in command was storming towards her and Ashe. His eyes were iridescent with suspicion and concern. “What is the meaning of- Was this your doing?” Seteth snarled, reaching out to take Byleth from the young lord. “She should not be roaming alone at night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t alone.” Byleth protested. “Ashe was with me. I sought him out, not the other way around.” Oh, did she look ill? If she had another coughing spell, Seteth would kill Ashe. Then banish him, and then kill him again. “I’m fine. I was just hungry-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were going to the dining hall.” Ashe spoke up as Seteth walked Byleth towards the Archbishop chambers. “She was going to get something warm-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lord Ubert, I mean no disrespect,” Hissed Seteth without turning his head, clearly meaning disrespect. “But the Archbishop should be resting, not galavanting alone at night unsupervised.” Seteth tossed over his shoulder, a bit more coldly, "I would suggest you do what a knight does, Lord Ubert. As a servant to the Archbishop-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Seteth!" Byleth weakly pushed against him, turning back to Ashe. "It's alright, I promise. I've been going out on my own- oh, come on, don't look so shocked- and I've had a cough before. I'm still a human." Byleth frowned, the weight in her lungs getting heavier. "I… I am very much human." She paused, then tore her accusatory glare from her second hand man, eyes softening to Ashe. "Please, Ashe, feel free to come by whenever you wish."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knight kept his eyes downcast. He said nothing, he simply bowed before turning and stalking to the staircase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her heart twisted, contempt wringing it like a damp towel. Byleth pushed away Seteth's hands. "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Her words bit, the back on her tongue stinging in her throat. The archbishop heaved open the door to her room and slammed it shut with as much effort as she could, making sure to bolt it. She didn't want to speak to anyone. Not now. No one would listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, maybe one would.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Byleth's hand moved to her chest, her breath thick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But too bad. She hasn't listened for the past… what, six years?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grabbed the edge of the thick comforter and yanked it onto the floor, crawling atop it and curling up, not bothering to change into her royal nightgowns. The textured shirt brought her feeling, and she found herself, oddly enough, pressing her face into the fur that Lord Ubert had draped around her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I haven't updated in so long, school and health are driving me bonkers, sksksk</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Flayn, can you sit still?” Ignatz’s brow furrowed as he peered around the art, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pinkie finger, his only finger that was not tainted with paint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl sighed but attempted to cease her squirming. “I apologize, Ignatz. My back simply gets so stiff after maintaining this position.” Ignatz didn’t mention that Flayn was the one who had selected the pose, back erect and shoulders drawn back. She was mighty proud of herself! Flynn had hit a growth spurt and grown approximately three-quarters of an inch (Seteth had gotten a tad teary-eyed when she had mentioned it) since the war’s end. “Ignatz,” Flynn said, fighting the urge to scratch her nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The artist didn’t glance up from his canvas. “Hm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Settling for wrinkling her nose in hopes of somewhat relieving the itch, Flayn kept her voice level. “Who are you painting next?” It was a miracle that her tiny hands stayed clasped in her dress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think Archbishop Eisner is next.” Ignatz frowned. “I haven’t seen her all day, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can go check-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, Flayn.” Ignatz lowered his brush. “You stay right there. I’ll send someone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goody,” The very still and not at all fidgety saint murmured through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ignatz settled his brush gently and tenderly onto the ledge he was leaning the work in progress against. “I’ll be back. You look like you could use a break-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can go-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A chuckle flew over Ignatz’s shoulder with a gentle scolding tone that made Flayn think of Seteth. Unfortunately. “No, I can’t have you going too far. It’s alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moved up the steps towards the dining hall, glancing around as his feet lightly tapped on the cobblestone. Ignatz pushed his lips forward, whistling a tune softly as he trekked. The dry noise was resolved with a quick lick, and the song came forth, brave and bold. Ignatz glanced back towards Flayn by the greenhouse, who had stood and was now in the lengthy process of stretching and aggressively scratching her nose. An immortal saint she maybe, but a child she also was. Ignatz sighed but felt affection flood into his chest as he made the final couple steps in and pushed open the dining hall door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The first word Byleth thought of when she woke up was simply, “Ew.” It was also the first word she said aloud. “Ew.” Was she normally this sticky? How could someone be stale with a sheen of sweat, yet cold? She groaned. Seteth was going to kill her. Byleth rolled over on the soft mattress, groaning when her arm smacked the sheets. Oh. She was in her bed, not on the floor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who moved me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth sat up, hands moving up the front seam of the large shirt, fingers brushing through a forgivingly soft fur pelt. The sensation was welcome, the cool hair of the wrap bringing relief to the tundra that was currently her body. Humid, warm, and just an overall state of discomfort. Upon breathing in, she instantly teared up at the pain in her nose. Her head pounded with effort, body inching towards the bed. A quick bath would do her some good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth heard a rattling at the lock on her door. She froze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why am I freezing? I own this place. Literally.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It took a shockingly long moment for Byleth to realize, as the door swung open, she knew this sensation- exposed. Vulnerable. Terrified. Despite the pain, Byleth drew in another breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swung shut gently behind Dorthea. She hummed gently and made sure it didn’t slam. How was it possible that someone moved with such grace? Her humming was so clear. It was probably the one noise that didn’t make Byleth’s head pound. “Dor…” Byleth groaned, rolling over onto one side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The door is shut, no worries.” Dorthea chirped, sitting down on the edge of Byleth’s bed. “Goddess, Byleth. You look...  uh…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gaaargh,” Byleth slurred in a not-very-holy fashion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A brief look of consideration passed on Dorthea’s face before she nodded. “Yes, you look very ‘gargh’.” Her tone was oddly casual, compared to the ones everyone else had taken up at the first gathering. Chipper, even. Dorothea had been in the middle ground of casual and formal, but she was on the former end of the scale now. Byleth felt the mattress shift as Dothra sat down on it, smoothing her hair away from her head tenderly. "My dear professor," She sighed. "Did you catch a cold? Is that why you left the meeting?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like a liar, Byleth nodded. She couldn't remember being sick when Sothis-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The archbishop sat up. "Dorthea, did you just call me professor?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Of course." The songstress frowned. "Am I not supposed to?" Her long fingers paused, the magic-worn hands hesitating in Byleth’s long hair. “If you would rather, I can call you Archbishop. Or the almighty one. Or Her Most Royal and Amazing Ruler of All.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Again, Byleth chuckled, she simply could not resist. Despite her current state, Byleth felt the best now than she had in the past six months or so. Lighter, until she was reminded that she was to be “set apart”, as Seteth put it. Had she grown so complacent to take what Seteth said lying down? Ill on a bed she felt too warm, too foreign in? “No, please. Professor is fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An amused and musical hum arose from Dorthea as her fingers continued combing through. “Professor it is, then.” Maybe this was what having a mother, a comfort, was like. Before this, the only source of comfort she had held on to was Sothis, and even that she could not keep. Dorthea’s voice was gentle, cutting through the bitter silence. “If anyone tells me otherwise, I’ll throw them into the fish pond.” The silence that followed eased into a satisfied one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Byleth’s voice was thick, heavy, body settling a little softer into the mattress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dorthea said nothing. She simply hummed, stroking still through Byleth’s hair. “For what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For being a friend.” Byleth wound her finger tightly around Ashe’s fur pelt again, tucking it to her chest and hoping the warmth of it would seep into her hollow heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, Ashe.” Felix nodded, wiping a thin sheen of sweat away from his forehead. “Have you been practicing?” He stabbed the sword into the ground, tucking his dark hair away from his ears. Still a master with a sword, Felix’s skills had only gotten better with the passing of months.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe tried to not think about what that meant. Felix had been using it since the war ended. Were rebels still out there, resisting and fighting and slaughtering? “Some,” Ashe walked towards the table and set down the broad sword he had been using. He still much preferred the bow and arrow or a lance, but every lord he had ever seen traveled with a sword on their belt. “Not as much as I’d like to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re better than you were when we last sparred,” Felix eyed the door suspiciously as Mercedes pushed it open. “Seven months ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe glanced momentarily down at his hands. He needed different gloves. The leather ones Felix had let him borrow were far too big but rubbed on his knuckles in an awkward manner when he flexed his fingers around the sword. In many ways, Ashe still felt like a child. Lanky and awkward and freckled, with small hands and a delicate frame. Lanoto had said Ashe was all elbows. His body had been made for sneaking and sniping from concealment. “I want to be stronger, Felix.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Felix’s face twinged in slight disgust as Ashe felt two little arms wrap around his leg. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe ignored Felix, picking up his leg and swinging Abe in an arch. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aberdeen giggled, resting his chin on Ashe’s knee. “Hi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They wanted to see you,” Mercedes spoke up, her gentle voice lulling as she ushered Adeline forward with a light nudge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe squatted down and grinned at both of the children, rubbing their heads. “I’m sure they did. Have you two been causing trouble?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Both of the kids agreed unanimously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mercedes laughed from behind them. “We were going to see the Archbishop’s garden on the third floor, but she’s ill.” She smoothed down her sleeve gently, closely examining the seam. She frowned a bit, bringing the fabric closer. “I need to repair this,” She mumbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ill?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ashe’s hand slowed in ruffling Abe’s hair. “With what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mercedes shrugged. “I’ll be going to see her. Flayn requested I go, seeing as I’m decent at white magic.” She sighed. “I’m afraid Seteth is extremely strenuous with who sees her. For one, she may be vulnerable to getting sicker, and she could get others sick. He’s been in the library all day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pausing in thought, Ashe nodded. “I feel awful. She was with me when she-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t blame yourself, Ashe.” Mercedes interjected. She never interrupted people, but her furrowed brow spoke volumes of disapproval. “There will be none of that negative talk around here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A grunt came from Felix. “People get sick all the time, Ashe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s right, I don’t think it was your fault. People don’t fall ill within minutes." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ashe gave a small, hesitant nod, pondering. “The meeting, the reunion. Didn’t the Prof- archbishop seem off?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Archbishop. She is the Holy Archbishop of the Church of Serios.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mercedes and Felix exchanged glances, the priestess adjusting the apron around her ever ripening belly. “Well, now that you mentioned it, I suppose she did.” She hesitated. “I’ll tell her you said hello, Ashe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young lord nodded helplessly, watching as Mercedes walked off, light on her feet despite being so heavy with child. Despite the attempted comfort from Mercedes and Felix (whose attempt has been somewhat poor but it was the spirit that counted), Ashe felt the burden of Byleth’s illness weighing on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My fault, my fault.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ah  ha, I am still living!<br/>I've been so busy, I apologise. I got married, got a full time job, and I'm in the process of moving, so please be patient! Have a rather short chapter. Hopefully when things settle down you guys can get the longer chapters you deserve!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Byleth wondered how much she could pay the guard at the door to not let Seteth in. Like… ever. It had been two hours and he had come to check on her six times. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Six. Times.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gods and Saints. She never should have come to Garreg Mach in the first place. Byleth gave a gentle groan of irritation and flipped over, onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. Her head felt like it was stuffed, with thick mud, and she was dizzy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should have let Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude die to the bandits. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Abruptly, Byleth sat up. Those thoughts were-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They ended up dead anyway.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-not like her-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What good did you prove to them, holiest of holies-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- was her head supposed to pound this much? Her head hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>- Oh leader of men, the savior of Fodlan, you couldn’t save three kids, what makes you believe you’re capable of leading the world?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t her head pounding, she realized as it became more intermittent. It was the door. Byleth dragged her hands up to her hair and wrapped the locks around each finger, tangling them, squeezing tightly. If she could yank these thoughts, fish them out with a string-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knocking grew ever more persistent. “Go away, Seteth.” Byleth moaned automatically. “I’m not dead yet, and I don’t need you.” She willed herself to push over to one side, facing the vast stained glass windows that decorated the side of the room and stared out at it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knocking quelled, if only for a brief moment. An airy voice sounded, muffled from the thick door. “Well, it’s good to know you aren’t dead, Archbishop. Perhaps I can keep you that way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mercedes,” Byleth exhaled and sat up. She kicked her legs over the side of the bed and rushed towards the door, pausing briefly to only resettle the vertigo. She scrambled for the doorknob and exhaled, slowly, feeling the sweat drain from her face. Byleth cleared her throat, praying she looked half-put together and opened the heavy door with a heavy creak. “Is it just you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, just me.” Mercedes chirped, striding in smoothly, her veil bouncing slightly with the light movements. She glanced around, smiling politely. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in the Archbishop’s chambers before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My friends are always welcome here," Byleth gestured to a chair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must crawl back into bed before I collapse." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The priestess nodded and sat down calmly. "Yes, take your time." Mercedes sang as she leaned back in it. "I'm just happy to be off my feet." Her eyes, however, remained fixed on Byleth, the chipper voice not quite reflecting the assertation in her eyes. Mercedes had this way about her- gentle but firm, considerate but calculating, meek yet so sure of herself in every aspect of the sense of herself. Byleth snorted to herself and pressed her face into the fluff of her pillow, allowing the sweat to seep through the case. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Maybe you should be Archbishop," Byleth wheezed, her lungs feeling fragile in her chest. The arteries, the oxygen branches, perhaps they would crumble on her next breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mercedes cocked her head, veil brushing her shoulders with a soft rustle of the mesh material. “Do you think I am worthy of such a position?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” Byleth wheezed. “I mean, look at you.” Byleth threw a hand half-heartedly in Mercedes’ general direction. “You’re so holy, and gentle and approachable. And so-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meek.” Mercedes turned her attention to the pitcher of water on the table next to the bed. “I’m patient and quiet, which can be necessary traits. But I am too much of a- oh, what’s the word- a pushover.” When Byleth made a protesting noise (a mix between a pained grunt and an exhausted bleat) Mercedes only giggled, offering a cool mug of crisp water. “Now, don’t you argue, or I may agree with you.” She wagged a finger at Byleth playfully. “Professor, I truly think you are both wise and stern, but you can be perfectly patient. Why, you taught Sylvain. That alone takes gallons of patience.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would suppose you have a point.” Byleth snagged the offered mug and gulped the water, pausing to exhale heavily, hoping to thaw her raw lungs and her stale throat. “How is A- everyone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone is well. Ashe, however, is beating himself up.” Mercedes drew in a breath, eyes plastered on Byleth, watching ferociously. If Byleth’s hesitation before she took a small sip of the water was visible, Mercedes said nothing, and settled back. “I think you should talk to him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The archbishop barked a laugh after swallowing her water. “Ha! As if Seteth would let him on this floor. I think the guards have orders to kill on sight.” It has been a joke, but as the words were spoken, Byleth realized that they may </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> have orders to kill on sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn Seteth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the archbishop, not Seteth.” Mercedes’ voice dropped low, to a growl, uncharacteristic of her typicual demure manner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The guards-” The words stumbled over Byleth’s tongue. She swallowed them down and tried again. “They don’t really see me as their leader. I’m so new, I suppose.” It took great effort, but Byleth managed to heave her shoulders in a great shrug. Or feared, or revered, or whatever other words that may have been used to describe Byleth’s actions- killing the former archbishop, overthrowing a fearsome dictator with rumored stoicism, and through everything showing a stunning lack of emotions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think that’s all poppycock and blatertales, professor.” Mercedes rose, reaching down to smooth the bangs of Byleth’s iridescent green hair from her face. The possession of her anger was gone as quickly as it had come. “You rest easy. I’ll tell Ashe you don’t blame him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Byleth managed to miraculously croak a hoarse “Thanks,” before collapsing on the silky sheets, still slick with sweat. As she closed her eyes, Byleth felt a faint tremor in her chest, and, chalking it up to her fever, Byleth fell into a fitful sleep once more.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>YALL THOUGHT I WAS GONE, HOES???</p><p>I got a new job that takes up a lot of time. I have worked on this long chapter for an embarrassingly long amount of time. I will try to post more! I love yall &lt;3</p><p>Yes, I am still in love with Ashe, why do you ask</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ashe had only run this fast twice in his life. First was to Lonato when Bylet had felled him, and the second was when he had seen Byleth yanked into the gaping maw of the cliffs of Garreg Mach as it fell to the Empire.</p><p>He rushed down the hall, slowing down and nodding politely to a student who was gawking at the running knight suspiciously. Lord Ubert-Lonato has gone insane, Ashe sighed internally. He spent no time festering upon the thought and re-quickened his pace once he reached the courtyard. The cathedral loomed ahead, its shadow melting over the courtyard as the sun sunk behind the rebuilt white stone walls of the school.</p><p>He scampered up the steps again, darting up. His breath shortened the higher he climbed. There really was no necessary reason to be running, it was somewhat silly- Mercedes had told him that Byleth held no grudge against him- perhaps she wants to tell me herself, the thought bounced around wildly in Ashe’s head. </p><p>She had come down for the Serios Choir service yesterday. She looked pale still, but she stood resolute and calm as if she hadn’t been sick. She had smiled and remained in good humor with the students, even waved at Ashe’s little siblings, and kept Seteth grimacing with her perfectly fine and healthy behavior. Even so, the man kept a close eye on Byleth, and Ashe had not had a chance to get close enough to talk to her- he didn’t want to risk it with Seteth’s evil eagle eyes glued to the archbishop.</p><p>Even now, Ashe peered around the corner, sucking in his lips and skimming for any wary green haired men. No sign of emerald hair in the hall. Ashe exhaled, stepping out into full view, shoulders rolling back calmly. He moved fluidly, the confidence of being a lord, a man, slowly seeping back into him.</p><p>“Sargent,” He said calmly. The guard at the door stood abruptly. “Are you sleeping on duty?”</p><p>The man, far broader than the young lord, cracked his spine straight and stared ahead. “Sir,” He muttered, voice laced with apology. “Not sleeping. Simply resting.”</p><p>Ashe paused, then smiled. “Sleeping on greenhouse duty would be more acceptable. You may go. I will watch the archbishop.”</p><p>The sargent blinked, dark circles under his eyes shaded more by his helmet. “I- sir- what of Seteth?”</p><p>Ah, there it is. Ashe shot him a smile and a light chuckle, reaching up and gently taking the spear. “I’ll take care of him.”</p><p>“But, m’lord, with all due respect, my orders are to not leave unless-”</p><p>Both of the men fell silent when the heavy tumblrs in the door began to rattle, laboring through turning, and groaning as the handle turned. Between the sliver, Byleth peered through, iridescent eyes gleaming when she saw Ashe. “Oh!” She opened the door a little more, smiling in relief. “I feared it was Seteth.”</p><p>“Ha! I’m happy to say it’s only me.” Ashe laughed, smoothing back a loose lock of hair as his stance slid into an easy one.</p><p>Byleth smiled, glancing at the sargent. “You’re free to go.”</p><p>“I- your eminiency-”</p><p>“Lord Ubert is my best knight.” Byleth spoke over him, lacing her arm through Ashe’s (he swallowed the pink that was flushing to his cheeks). “I trust him with my life. Go get some sleep, Sargent.” </p><p>The man hesitated, his grip around the javelin weakening. “But, Seteth-”</p><p>“Seteth is Seteth, and I am the Archbishop of the Damn Church of Serios. I believe I outrank him.” Her tone was not short as she arched her brow, but the words clipped just shy of irritated. “Thank you, Sargent, but my Commander in Arms and I will be taking tea in the courtyard.”</p><p>The Sargent reddened, but he gave a hasty bow and stumbled away, mumbling an apology and jogging away.</p><p>Byleth watched him, and then sighed, slowly reaching for a simple coat to pull on over her blouse. “I was about to go on a walk. Flayn told me Ignatz showed her a lovely place to go when the sun sets.” She tossed Ashe a sheepish smile, pulling the heavy door shut as she slid out into the hallway. “I would like for a knight to accompany me?” </p><p>Ashe blinked, then cleared his throat, smoothing back his hair as he hurried forward to walk next to her (at a respectable distance, of course). “Yes, of course.”</p><p>“No need to be so formal, Ashe. Or is it still Lord Ubert?” Byleth placed a hand on the wall, using it to guide her steps. She smiled as the wind feathered her hair, bowing mint strands past her face for a moment once they exited into the sun of the path down towards the courtyard. “Or Duran?”</p><p>“Ubert. It would be a disservice to not acknowledge all Lanato has done for me, but I was not his… actual son.” Ashe reached out gently and took her other hand, allowing the Archbishop to put weight on him if needed. “You kept Eisner.”</p><p>Her laugh was silvery- pleasant. “Yes, Jeralt was my father. But, Ashe, blood is not what creates a family.”<br/>“Ah, the professor is now wise.”</p><p>“I have said a smart thing or two in the past, young man. If I still had to grade your strategy papers, I would have failed you for that remark alone.” Byleth’s brow quirked and her lip twitched, a teasing tone enveloping her light voice.</p><p>Ashe laughed along with Byleth, shaking his head softly. “And if I were your student, I would have made some snarky remark.”</p><p>“Nonsense! You were a pleasure to teach.” Byleth eased more of her weight against him, hand sliding more into his. On reflex, Ashe’s fingers tightened momentarily. Byleth returned the subtle touch, meaningful in its quietness and the hum she elicited in approval. “And now, my general and knight, my right-hand man, is you, and I cannot fail you.”</p><p>Said general/knight/right-hand man stared ahead, face warm, not only from the welcoming touch of the sun. “But I can- have failed you-”</p><p>“Never.” Byleth’s voice was hoarse. “Never have you failed me, Ashe. The very idea of that has never touched my mind, nor shall it.”</p><p>“Ha,” Ashe shook his head, eyes moving from the courtyard doors ahead to the stone path. “I am fallible.”</p><p>“We all are. I am, as well.” There was a taut pause. “Especially Seteth.”</p><p>“Especially Seteth,” Ashe agreed, his hand feeling the tug of her fingers finding his again, a laugh stumbling from his throat. “Does he even like tea?”</p><p>“When he has it? Yes. When Flayn has it with Ignatz? No, not at all.” Byleth reached up and pushed the heavy door open, grunting slightly at the effort it took. Under the sweater, muscle tugged tight and worked against the resistance of the door. Ashe moved forward and assisted, glancing sideways at Byleth. She looked better after the brief walk, cheeks red from the effort of pushing or spurt of exercise, or perhaps the minor amount of feelings reintroduced into their lives.</p><p>His heart played in his chest, spurting excitedly at the thought of Byleth- Byleth!- having the same emotions and, perhaps, returning the softness his soul felt for hers. She had no physical heart, Ashe knew that, but perhaps she did not need one for his heart to fully adore hers and hers to love him in return.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>